Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Travels in Black and White

I stayed home today to watch our new President take the oath of office. The company where I currently work as a temp assistant won't be putting time aside for that experience, and I really (like most of us) didn't want to miss it. The past few weeks leading up to this awesome event have brought up so many memories. In my blog entry, A Week in November, I wrote about my first time voting. And I wrote about my father weeping when Arthur Goldberg and Abraham Ribicoff became members of JFK's cabinet. It was a huge thing for Jews to be part of the cabinet. And here we are today, 48 years later (where did all that time go?) welcoming Barack Obama to lead our country. I think my dad would have surely been impressed with the remarkable turn of events. But chances are he'd have said something about not yet seeing a Jewish president. Well, he'd have to say that.

You know that mine is a trans-racial family. A friend asked me recently how/why did this happen? I probably shrugged and came out with a smart-ass remark -- I don't remember. But it did send me thinking back. From the time I was a teenager I had decided to adopt a baby. Even if I had biological children, I knew I would adopt. When my first son was around two years old I researched the Pearl Buck Foundation. Adopting an Asian child through this organization was not financially possible for us. When my second son was around one year old, I looked into adopting a Native American child ( the profile of available/needy children continually changed). The adoption agency encouraged us to give our boys their childhood. When we had moved into Beverly Massachusetts, into our wonderful Corning Street house; when we had come home, the time seemed right. So I made some calls and learned that the children who needed homes at that time were mixed race babies. It never occurred to me to adopt a Caucasian child; I wanted to adopt a baby who might otherwise not have a home. I worked with Friends for Inter-racial adoption. We were sent to Jewish Home Services in Lynn. These good folks had never assisted with an inter-racial adoption. They had many reservations: we didn't have any money; we were already a mixed religion family. The woman, Alice, who was in charge of our "case" asked me "In what race will you raise the child?" I remember clearly saying, "How about the human race? I think that will work." My only stipulation was a baby girl under the age of two. It was December of 1969. Don and I met with her together, then we met with her separately. In January, she came to our home. She approved us, but cautioned that it could take years for the appropriate child to appear. (My husband, by the way, went along with all of this because it was so important to me. But I know he thought it was a fine madness.)

On Friday, February 6th, I received a phone call from Alice. She had a baby. The baby was mixed-race, and had a Jewish mother who wanted the child to be with a Jewish mother. We qualified! The little girl had been waiting six months. Don left work in Boston, I left Beverly and we met at the office in Lynn.
Alice had photos of the baby, but very little information about her background. The adoption fee was very low in order to permit us to afford it. The baby was coming from Jewish Family Services in Boston; we couldn't pick her up on the weekend and Monday was a Jewish holiday, so Tuesday became the day we'd come for our new baby. Alice said something stupid like "Sold!" I was sure then and convinced since that this baby had been waiting for us.

We spent the weekend putting our new baby's room together; the crib, etc. I didn't know how big the baby was but I went shopping for clothes for her anyway. My mother (who wasn't crazy about the idea) had wired me $50 for a layette for her. I had a short list of names -- Zoe, Keira, Sabra, and at least six more. But on Sunday evening I finished reading the last book of the Alexandria Quartet. The book is called Clea. And with Don's blessing, I decided to call the baby Clea Coburn Beaman. We fetched our Clea on Tuesday, February 10th, 1970.

I had always been oddly color blind when it came to race. I say oddly because being raised in the '40's and '50's, racism seemed a way of life. So was antisemitism. There were too many "antis" in those days. But not until you are in the trenches do you really understand the pain this causes. We were instantly in the trenches. We had integrated Beverly, and for
years Clea was the only child of color in her classrooms. We fought the Metco fight, the "let's destroy the Beaman's yard" fight, the screaming and throwing rocks at the Beaman children on the streets, and so forth. I hope that Clea knew during all those years that she wasn't alone but had a family-army with her.

This of course doesn't really answer how/why. Recently I remembered having several books when I was little; books that today would not be politically correct. One was about a little girl called "Pinky Marie" whose hair was in tiny braids with colorful ribbons that get stolen by the birds while she sleeps in the garden. The birds make a glorious nest with her ribbons. The other book was about a little black baby girl who is abandoned on the steps of a hospital. And Nurse Moore who is a single, white lady decides to adopt her and calls her Baby Jane. (The book doesn't say "black baby;" it says "colored baby." Such were the times.) I loved the book; I loved Nurse Moore who took this adorable baby home. And truly, as a little girl, I didn't see color -- I saw a baby who needed a home and a lady who gave her one. I think this was probably where it all began.

The rest of Clea's story is a book waiting to be written. I'll try to do that really soon. But
today my daughter is watching the first black President take office. And her three children will know that this is possible. Perhaps it will be a better world for us all. We can hope. President Obama is all about hope.


I


Thursday, January 1, 2009

Missing Midnight

Maybe it's much too early in the game
Ooh, but I thought I'd ask you just the same
What are you doing New Year's
New Year's eve?
........... words & music by Frank Loesser

My, my -- I thought this year -- there have been quite a few New Year's eves gone by. I don't recall too many from my childhood. One though: I was maybe 10 or 11 when I was left to babysit for my younger brother. I'm sure it was New Year's eve. My parents and grandparents had gone out. I don't know where my older brother was. I just remember sitting on the couch, looking out the window and watching the snow fall. It was a beautiful snowfall. I know I didn't mind being there. I remember when I was in high school, I'd stay home on New Year's eve. But my friends would show up at around midnight to see in the New Year with me. My mom and I would make them breakfast. One year I had a date (I don't recall whom with) and we went into Manhattan to see a movie and watch the ball drop. When we came out of the theatre in Times Square it was bedlam. My date vanished into the crowd. I have never coped well with crowds, so I beat it down to the subway and went home. I found my date sitting on my porch steps. Duh! After that, I pretty much told my friends that I'd be home on New Year's eve. Even in college -- folks who were in NYC for the holidays would shlep out to Brooklyn to sing around our piano. My parents would always come home early from wherever they went for the evening so that they wouldn't miss the "party." A bunch of theatre students -- there was always someone who could "really" play piano, and people like Ellen Travolta and Lloyd Battista who could sing and entertain any crowd. In the early hours of New Year's morning, my Dad would wake me up and we'd drive to Coney Island for Nathan's hotdogs and Shatzkin's knishes which we'd eat on the boardwalk while we watched the "Brownies" club members go for their New Year's day swim in the cold Atlantic. After I'd graduated school and married and moved away, folks continued to show up at my mom's door and spend some New Year's eve time reminiscing.

During the Pittsburgh years, my husband and I would host a little New Year's eve party. Always a small gathering with some close friends. My dear friend Mary and her hubby Ray would have an open house party right next door. So there was friendly visiting back and forth. And at midnight, we'd meet on the shared porch of our two rentals, to toast the New Year in together. The early years in Massachusetts in the Corning Street house brought all kinds of new traditions. One of the best was our Victorian New Year's Eve. I asked the friends we invited to come dressed as they would have been during that era. I remember we borrowed little tables and chairs and turned our living room into a Victorian restaurant. All of the dishes served were from that era. Friends even came from out of state. It was a charming evening, lit only by candle light.

During the Acting Place years, the actors and students from the Place would show up; we'd read fortunes in the fireplace and throw the Tarot cards
. For years this became a happy way to spend the night. When I moved into Boston, my friends continued to arrive for our "magical" New Year's eve. Ouija boards; spirit writing; past-life regressions; seances. We had a terrific time. Occasionally my step-father would overnight a "do-it-yourself crepe suzette kit." It made a lovely breakfast!

People go their own way. Living in New Jersey didn't attract any comers for the holiday. And since my return, my circle of loved ones is far flung and miles wide. But usually, there's a good movie, some time with the little ones, and a glass of Prosecco while watching the ball drop on the TV. HOWEVER, last night I curled up on my bed with my mulled wine and turned on a show to watch until the midnight event. We'd had a snow storm, and the temperature had dropped to single digits after the snow stopped falling.  So any plans to go out were pretty much parked.  So I turned to the TV for the evenings event.  The next thing I knew, I was waking up and it was 4:00 a.m. I had slept through midnight!!! That was a first. And hopefully NOT to be repeated. I felt terribly old farty having missed midnight!

I wish you a joyous 2009 filled with good health and excellent surprises!